


The Heiress

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Comedy, F/M, May not be historically accurate lol, Murder Mystery, My love letter to Avon Historical Romances, Mystery, Older Man/Younger Woman, Regency, Regency Romance, Romantic Comedy, self-indulgent drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Isabella is a pretty, young heiress who marries the mysterious, dark and handsome Duke of Blackfall.However, she learns that looks are deceiving, and that one should have her wits about her when a couple of mysterious homicides are occurring in the village of Cambridge.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

She was eighteen and beautiful.

Although it was her second season in society, she still felt her skin shiver in nervousness and anticipation.

Isabella knew that she was desirable, being both and heiress and pretty; but she oft wondered if she could ever receive the attention of a man that made her stomach flutter and breathing hasten in the same manner that the heroines in her novels did when they saw _him_.

The thought made her giggle, but she tried to maintain her excitement and appear more dignified, for it would not do to appear childish. She was huddled amongst her friends and companions, who were also rich and beautiful and excited. All of these girls, who stood between the candelabras, were destined to marry advantageously, become graceful hostesses and send their sons to Cambridge (Oxford was out of fashion). They ignored the other single ladies who hovered at the background behind the upholstered seats; the ones who had been out a few _too_ many seasons.

Isabella wore cornflower blue to complement her eyes; and stood in front of the candles so her honey hair would glow like a halo, and the diamonds around her neck would glitter. She was a few inches shy of being of average height; but she supposed it was good because last season she noticed that the men who spoke to her puffed out their chests in pride as she bent her neck to look up to them as they spoke.

Isabella did not know very much about men, let alone young men, having no brothers and a father who had passed away three years ago. She was not very familiar with him, as he resided in town most of the time while his wife and daughters stayed in their residence in Bath. He was the exceedingly clever son of a clerk who built his wealth through trade in the East and investments around England. Isabella was not precisely certain about _how_ he handled his business affairs, as she had no interest in such things and no particular closeness with her father; although her younger sister was much more knowledgeable on these matters. Catherine, who was fifteen, was too young for society but like Isabella, but was an heiress who would have access to her immense fortune and control over her properties when she turned one and twenty. For now, they covered all of their expenses on a very generous monthly allowance.

Isabella knew families like hers were regarded poorly; they were the gauche and newly wealthy due to something vulgar like _trade_. Isabella felt the sneers of the older aristocratic ladies and spinsters who disapproved of her excessive jewels and her over excitement. They thought themselves far too _refined_ to socialise much, too mature to appear pleased, and believed their drab clothing to be understated.

As it was a warm Summer’s night and Isabella was near the candle flames, she began to feel the first dreaded drops of perspiration. Panicking, she reached for her little bag and found a handkerchief she had embroidered with roses and bordered with ivory lace.

Her friends began to flutter and rearrange their skirts, and Anne elbowed Isabella to warn her that the young men were coming. Quickly folding her handkerchief as neatly as she could, Isabella stuffed it into her bag and pinched her cheeks to give them a little colour before letting her hands fall in place together.

A crowd of tall men in dark waistcoats appeared at the door, bringing sound and joviality to the proceedings as they entered. As the dancing began, Isabella was disappointed that she was not invited by anyone, and watched sullenly as Anne waltzed with some young man with golden curls.

Her eyes were drawn to the door by the arrival of a latecomer. He was tall, towering over the other young men in these rooms; and the way he filled his red coat at the chest and arms hinted at his very muscular form and raw, physical power. The number of glittering pins and badges on his regimentals indicated that he was no mere officer but perhaps a Captain. Isabella’s eyes moved further up to see a strong jaw, aristocratic nose and black eyes which were looking back at her with dark amusement.

Blushing that she was caught ogling by this handsome man, Isabella quickly averted her gaze to the interesting ground that surrounded her silk shoes. She felt two hands grip and squeeze her shoulders rather painfully then, and Isabella raised her head to see Anne, who was lightly shaking her.

“Oh Bella, that Captain is the Duke of Blackfall!”

Later that night, the Duke took her hand for a round of waltzing. Her soft white hands were enclosed on his darker and larger one, and she was overwhelmed by his masculinity whenever his hand came to her waist or his dark eyes roamed around her figure.


	2. Chapter 2

She was one and twenty and widowed.

John, her dead husband, the Duke of Blackfall, would have been jubilant to be here for her coming of age, so that way he could _take her fortune too_.

Throughout the duration of her unhappy marriage, Isabella’s husband _drank_ and gambled away much of his fortune. As their circumstances fell, she became helpless and was forced to hand over her own monthly allowances to him; for a woman and her assets became her husband’s property after her marriage due to the _law_. Thankfully, her father had made an unusual provision in his will – if unmarried by one and twenty, she would receive her inheritance, but if she _did_ marry, she would have to wait until she was nine and twenty. While John frolicked around at town, Isabella was left to deal with debtors on her own and had to start _ironing_ as they could only afford one maid. All of her clothes were out of season, her jewels were pawned off by that _monster_ behind her back, and so she decided that she could not show her face to society lest they see her reduced state.

John would return to Blackfall Hall in the middle of the night all the way from London, reeking of alcohol with his army friends. They would shoot at some poor birds who were no doubt trying to sleep, and then play cards until four in the morning before departing. John would then join her in bed, last for few lazy thrusts inside her, fall to his side and drift off into sleep.

At first, Isabella was often afraid that he would be violent with her, but thankfully John restrained himself to yelling and breaking a few fragile valuables. Despite her resentment, Isabella disliked even those displays of anger because it still frightened her, and so she avoided confrontation.

The only time she had been truly angered enough to oppose him with a bitter tongue was when he forbid her to let her mother and sister. Therefore, she was reduced to writing about her sorry existence to her family, while they replied that they wish she had not been so foolish.

Isabella had always been regarded as a little slow, by her father, mother, sister, friends and tutors. She had surprised them all through sheer determination by labouring over her studies, and so was reasonably knowledgeable on geography, history and especially literature. Isabella _adored_ reading poems and sonnets about courtly love; and so perhaps her preoccupation with romance and overpriced ribbons had led those around her to believe that she was empty headed.

Isabella could not feel even an _iota_ of remorse when John had inevitably got himself killed. His horse had enough of having its sore hide whipped in the middle of the night as it raced from London to Blackfall Hall.

The mare threw its master off and then stomped on him.

* * *

Isabella was at the post office, waiting to receive the reply to a letter she had received from John’s heir. John himself was not initially meant to be the heir of Blackfall Hall, but his older brother had died of the pox in childhood.

Four male cousins, who were all meant to inherit after him, also shared his luck. One was lost at sea, another killed by the French, the other murdered by his opera singer mistress and the last ran away to the Orient and was killed when he was caught stealing treasures from a sacred temple.

The heir was the only child of John’s youngest aunt, although her child was over a decade older than John himself. To Isabella, he was known as “Old Cousin Phineas with a stick up his arse.” Ignoring his vulgarity, Isabella asked her husband as to whether Old Cousin Phineas had a profession.

“A parson or lawyer or something suitably dull. He hides away at Cambridge...or was it Oxford?”

Isabella was surprised that she had never heard of Old Cousin Phineas, for she moved around many circles when she was younger. Then again, Isabella had hardly cared for old men hiding away at Cambridge in the past, especially if he was fifth in line to inherit.

However, marriage had made Isabella a changed person; and she was desperate to have her jewels back. She knew some of them had not been sold yet and wanted them returned _immediately_ , as she refused to have them in John’s bank vault any longer.

Isabella wrote to Phineas Bell, who was indeed a professor of mathematics at one of Cambridge’s colleges, and explained her situation to him. She was careful to keep her letter concise and not sound too foolish, for no doubt someone as intelligent and learned as him would scorn her already.

She received a short letter in return, requesting her to meet him at the offices of his lawyer at town next week.

Phineas entered Clyde & Partners with the full intention to return anything that his insipid cousin had taken from his wife. Truthfully, he was unsurprised by reports of John’s excesses and his rather fitting end.

John’s widow, no doubt some foolish pretty thing, seemed to be very disheartened by her experience, and so was too jaded to bother Phineas about receiving a pension from the Blackfall estate. (It was not possible, as it seemed that John really _did_ spend everything.) Thankfully, Phineas already had a profession which suited him, an income which sustained him; and he detested the idea of an idle aristocratic life.

It was outside the door of Mr Clyde’s office that Phineas paused, because there was an _angel_ in the way.

She had honey curls which were piled on her head, and gleaming in shades of gold and brown due to the sunlight that was coming from the grimy windows. The angel was not very tall, but he could make out a womanly figure due to the way she wore her plain cream gown. Phineas’ eyes were drawn to her full arms, sloping shoulders and long neck, all of which were alabaster white and looked decadently _soft_.

He was ashamed that his focus then went to her...chest. Although her gown was not very low, she wore no chemisette, and so anyone could make out the curvature that promised full, lush breasts.

Phineas’ gaze travelled up her slender neck to her heart shaped face. The angel had two large eyes that were the colour of the cloudless summer skies. Her cheekbones were high with a sweet pink blush; but it was her lips that had the darker, more alluring shade of pink. They were like rose petals, moving as she spoke, and Phineas _knew_ that they were even softer than her perfect skin...

It was imperative that he give nothing away about the effect she had on him, for no angel could be so _sensual_.

It was then Phineas realised that this creature had to be John’s widow.

The thought made Phineas clench his jaw: of _course_ men like his charming cousin attracted women like this. But perhaps it was a good thing, for although Phineas was a man and appreciated beauty, he did not want to be tied to no doubt a vain and foolish girl who fancied herself the wife of an officer _and_ handsome Duke.

Still, Phineas was painfully aware of his remaining few and greying hairs.

“Oh, Mr Bell?,” the _siren_ had a gentle voice, “I am Mrs Witherby, former Duchess of Blackfall. I suppose you have come to meet with your lawyer, Mr Clyde –“

“You are blocking the way to his door.”

“Oh,” Isabella was startled by his abrupt tone and annoyed expression. She was not used to men being impolite to her, “my apologies.”

She stepped out of the way as Mr Bell knocked the door before entering Mr Clyde’s office. She followed him in, and saw the portly lawyer rise from his desk, smiling.

“Mr Bell, Mrs Witherby! Welcome, please be seated, we have much to discuss.”

As Mr Clyde looked through his files and papers, Isabella studied Old Cousin Phineas, who was seated next to her and scowling at the mess on the lawyer’s desk.

Judging by the lines between his furrowed eyebrows, it seemed as though he frowned quite frequently. Mr Bell had dark hair, but it was greying and receding to the extent that he now had a large bald patch, whereas John still had a thick, dark mane. Mr Bell was tall and fairly healthy, but he was thin and lanky, whereas John was taller and so muscular that he filled out all of his coats. The man beside her seemed pale, whereas her husband was bronzed due to his fondness for outdoor activities.

Both the heir and his cousin had very square jaws and hooked noses: but while it was called aquiline on John, it just made Mr Bell, who was already not very handsome, look like a grumpy bird of prey.

“Ah, here is the list of jewels that needs to be transferred from the vault Mr Bell – the Duke of Blackfall I should say – to Mrs Witherby. The bank will do the transfer, I just need both of you to sign here...”

As Isabella Witherby’s signed the document, the lawyer began to speak to him.

“It seems as though you may have to sell much of the land you have inherited to cover your cousin’s debts, and you may earn very little from your title for many years. It is fortunate you are a bachelor and earn your own income, but it is important that you name an heir for Blackfall Hall. The line ends with you, and I believe you have no issue. And considering your family’s propensity for accidents...”

Phineas was embarrassed at the mention of his unmarried state; and annoyed at the reminder of the sticky ends his boorish cousins had. He was not very frightened about meeting a similar fate, as he was not the superstitious sort, but for some reason, his acquaintances and colleagues believed that his family had been _cursed_.

“I would prefer we had this discussion without an audience.” Phineas muttered as Mrs Witherby tried to look inconspicuous and study her slender fingers.

“I was about to ask if Mrs Witherby was with child, as it has only been two months –“

“No, I assure you that I am not expecting.” John’s widow interrupted quickly.

“Very well. It is fortunate that you husband died so quickly, or it is quite possible that he may have taken control of your considerable assets in a few years' time.” The lawyer said testily, as he eyed Mrs Witherby carefully.

Phineas was irritated that this unorganised lawyer thought himself to be a detective: it was quite clear that Mrs Witherby had not murdered her husband. John was perfectly capable of getting himself killed in the middle of the night in London, seventy miles away from Blackfall Hall and his wife.

“If you are done then Mr Clyde –“ Phineas said, clearing his throat.

“You should consider marriage so that it is possible for you to name an heir, Mr Bell.”

A welcome (or unwelcome, he was still uncertain) image of Isabella Witherby, reclining on his bed in nothing but a thin shift came to his head. Her honey waves were unbound and flowing freely, while her shift was open at the breast, where a babe with dark hair was sucking voraciously. Phineas snapped himself out of fantasy land brought himself back to Mr Clyde’s unkempt office as the lawyer continued to ramble while the lady next to him looked blissfully unaware of what was running through his mind.

“I believe my business with you is finished Mrs Witherby. If you would be so kind to leave now...”

“Oh, yes,” John’s wife looked startled as she quickly rose from her seat and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders before offering him her hand to shake. “Forgive me for my intrusion, and thank you for your cooperation.”

Mrs Witherby looked at Phineas as though she seemed genuinely grateful for what done, even though it was the only proper thing for him to do. He had no business confiscating the jewellery of some woman his cousin had hoodwinked.

Phineas cleared his throat and tried not to meet her earnest, wide blue eyes and carefully shook her hand, which was so soft and small that he had to resist the urge to bring it to his lips and cheeks to enjoy its silken smoothness.

 _Whatever was wrong with him?_ Mrs Witherby was just another face he would never see again after this day. Phineas hardly even knew her, and he was usually suspicious of beautiful women, because...no one was perfect.

Perhaps he was finally becoming senile in his old age.


	3. Chapter 3

Because it was entirely necessary for a respectable lady to wear black during her mourning period, Isabella had to don a rather plain evening gown for a husband who was better dead, good riddance.

Anne, who was now married, ushered her in to her sitting room. She had married a Mr Gabriel Livingstone, a handsome young man who was part of the landed gentry. Both were currently residing in London for the season, and invited Isabella to their small dinner party as she was in town.

“You look drab.” Anne said as way of welcome.

“Understated.” Isabella corrected stiffly, highly aware of how dull she looked. She had embroidered some white roses around the neckline and collar to make the gown somewhat more presentable.

Anne shook her head as Isabella suddenly hitched a breath in and paused when she saw a familiar face among the gentlemen who were lounging around the fireplace.

“It’s him!,” Isabella squeaked to her friend, “Old Cousin Phineas!”

“That’s a very rude thing to call Mr Bell, Isabella! He is only five and thirty.”

“No, that is what John called him. He’s the heir to Blackfall, Anne. What is he doing here?”

“Oh, yes. He was William’s mentor in Cambridge. I can see why your late husband may have given Mr Bell gave him such a rude moniker. Mr Bell often reprimanded Gabriel and his group of friends for their laziness. As an educator, he expects total dedication from his students.”

“So why is he here then?”

“Oh, you know Bella…They eventually formed a more amiable relationship, and the poor man is not the most affable of men...”

“He is hardly a child lost in the woods Anne.”

“No, he is said to be brilliant. But William has a soft spot for his old mentor. But tell me Bella, what are you planning to do now that you are free from the shackles of an unhappy marriage and a rich young lady of circumstance?”

“Oh, Anne. I have changed so much, I fear that I have become a bore! Who wants to be acquainted with a widow? And what use are friends? Apart from you, everyone else ceased correspondence with me once my situation fell. I have no interest in society now, nor do I feel compelled to dress as pretty for everyone else as I once did!”

“Bella you are only one and twenty, and an heiress! But if society has made you feel so jaded, then perhaps you should consider going on a tour around the continent. I have heard wonderful things about Italy! It is warm, beautiful and has the most exquisite places to see! You could go with your mother and sister, they would surely enjoy it and it would be a nice break from all of the troubles you had!”

Isabella began to see a future forming for herself as her friend spoke. After all that had befallen her, her mother and her sister, the idea of escaping and exploring the continent together was appealing. Isabella had been married far too quickly and had seen very little of the world.

“That is a lovely idea Anne! Do you know anyone...”

The two friends chatted animatedly about different places around the continent that would be nice to visit before dinner was announced and Anne’s loathed mother-in-law led the small party to the table and sat at its head.

The elder Mrs Livingstone was a handsome woman despite her age, iron grey hair and perpetual sneer. It was more pronounced when her son declared that he was in love with the coin rich but title poor Anne. The elder Mrs Livingstone had no choice but to accept this new daughter-in-law, but it did not mean that they were on friendly terms with one another.

“The only good thing your marriage with John had was the absence of a mother-in-law,” Anne muttered to Isabella as they sat down next to each other. Bella saw that Mr Bell sat opposite to her, scowling at his starter, which was odd, for it seemed that Anne’s cook had done an exemplary effort as per usual.

Phineas was trying to breathe normally and focus on anything but the siren seated opposite to him and moistening her plump cherubic lips as she looked down at her plate before she began to eat. He did not understand why he was so affected by this stranger: he had met plenty of women, plenty of _handsome_ women before without his mind going straight to the gutter.

It was bad enough that he had to make polite conversation with Gabriel’s irritating mother who was excited to have a Duke sitting at her table. She sat at the table’s head, and Mr and Mrs Gabriel Livingstone sat at either side of her.

Phineas himself was sitting adjacent to Gabriel and opposite Mrs Witherby, who was seated next to Gabriel’s youngest sister Marie, a moody youth of fourteen.

“Are you planning to continue to teach at Cambridge now that you are a Duke?” Mrs Livingstone asked him.

“Yes ma’am.” He kept his replies short.

“A shame then. Surely you would prefer to live like a gentleman now that it suits you rather than… _work_.” Her lip stiffened at the notion of a highly educated individual teaching the cream of the nation at possibly the best institute in the world, all while earning a very decent income.

Then again, some of the spoilt young dunderheads whom he had to educate were a pain. They argued when he assigned to much school work, argued about exam results, and even tried to _bribe_ him. Phineas knew that this breed of rich and elite troublemakers frequented houses of ill repute, drinking, gambling and whoring instead of studying for their exams, but he was amused by their antics at times. The particularly stiff and hypocritical history faculty had decided to hide Roman artefacts due to showing men and women (apparently there were also men and men, and women and women, if the rumours were true) in various positions of intimate intercourse. Deeming it inappropriate for public viewing (but perfectly fine for them to gawk at privately), the history faculty did not display the artefacts. One _certain_ troublemaker and his friends decided that this was a violation of their rights, and one morning the history professors had their underclothes taken from their rooms and speared onto the flagposts around the university. 

The boys enjoyed the camaraderie of their fellow peers, who never told anyone about the culprits, and so no one was caught.

After finishing his education, Gabriel convinced himself that he and Phineas were great friends and began to call him “Finny”. Phineas did not correct him of this notion, partly because he knew Gabriel would ignore him; but also because as it felt good to be known as something other than Old Cousin Phineas.

“How old are you, Mr Bell?” Mrs Livingstone asked, eyeing her young daughter as Phineas nearly choked on his soup. It was not a question he wished to answer, as it was mortifying to realise how pathetically lonely he was at his age and because he felt as young Marie looked: tomato red and ready to flip the table and let the crockery smash onto the floor.

“I am turning six and thirty this April.” He managed to say between grit teeth.

“And what do you do, Mrs Witherby.” Mrs Livingstone asked the lovely widow with a sharp look.

“Oh, I love to play,” the beauty said with a small smile “I know a little French, and I am very fond of embroidery.”

Normally, Phineas would be unimpressed by these rather ordinary accomplishments, but instead, he wanted her to speak a little more and perhaps play and sing for him later.

“Yes dear.” Mrs Livingstone replied, as though she were not very interested in the young lady.

“Say, Finny, what do you think of all of the building the Prince is doing around London?” Gabriel was always very animated when speaking, “I’m excited to see how it all looks when it is finished! Believe it or not, but the other day, I saw the builders constructing a cathedral with a spiral top!”

“The Prince is certainly extravagant,” Phineas replied dryly, “his project, as usual, is expensive, wasteful and overambitious.”

“He is destroying the city, when he is not disgracing the public with his sordid behaviour!” Mrs Livingstone exclaimed.

“Is it true there have been a string of murders in Cambridge Mr Bell?” young Marie suddenly cut in.

“Marie! Such talk is distasteful!” Mrs Livingstone scolded while Gabriel and Anne chuckled.

“Yes,” Phineas replied, raising his eyebrow in surprise as this rather unladylike question, “there have been four within the last half year. All of the victims had been stabbed in the heart, and happened to be faculty members or former faculty members who lived in various areas of Cambridge. The letter X had been carved onto their forehead.”

Gabriel and Marie grinned while Mrs Livingstone glared at their over eagerness. But it was Mrs Witherby’s reaction which gained everyone’s attention, as the young lady had spilled her glass of wine all over the table cloth, and was very pale. Her friend, Mrs Gabriel Livingstone – Anne – eyed her with worry and had reached to hold her shaking fingers while ordering a maid to bring smelling salts.

“Surely your constitution is not that delicate Mrs Witherby?” Mrs Livingstone sneered.

“Forgive me, I…was merely surprised and spilled my wine. I am terribly sorry for the mess.” She rambled meekly as a maid came in to pass her the smelling salts before wiping the spilled drink.

“Was it a disgruntled student?” Gabriel asked Phineas excitedly.

“Whoever it is, they will not be able to stop next month’s exams if that is their intent. Many students have tried to pull various stunts and hoaxes to delay exams in the past.”

“Four deaths are hardly a hoax, Mr Bell,” Anne said primly, “and are the authorities any closer to finding the culprits?”

Phineas snorted. The murders had befuddled the rather daft parish constable and watchmen in Cambridge; and after the fourth death, a regiment of officers had been assigned to Cambridge to prowl the streets at night. Colonel Phillips, a ruddy faced optimist nearing sixty, had looked rather amused when reading the case files in front of a very unamused faculty of teachers.

“Are you not afraid Mr Bell?” Mrs Witherby’s voice was shaking very slightly, “the…killer seems to be targeting teachers…”

“I am hardly likely to start searching for my sniffing salts.” Mr Bell sniped back, annoyed at her simpering, even if he knew she was doing her best to keep her courage. Mrs Witherby looked hurt at his remark and she quickly averted her gaze down to her plate, picking at her food again while Mr Livingstone ignored the mutinous looks his wife was giving him and his friend.

* * *

After dinner, Isabella was able to excuse herself for a few moments and retreat outside to her friend’s lovely garden. It was joined to a large public park, and Isabella walked to that border, as far away from the house as she could go.

Anne was kind enough to understand that all she wanted was to be left alone for a little while after dinner, and promised her a spot of tea once she came back from her walk.

Isabella breathed in the crisp night air mixed with the scent of damp leaves and grass. It was a chilly March evening, but in her haste, Isabella had forgotten her shawl and was now cold as she walked next to a row of sharp brambles, which were still bereft of leaves after winter.

She felt bereft of something too after her father died; perhaps it was regret that she had never known him truly, nor ever tried to have any close relations with him. When he was not away on business, he was in his library, where she was not permitted to enter.

When Isabella was very young - around eight -, she had developed the habit of waking up early and having breakfast. At that time, no one was awake apart from Papa, who smiled and spoke to her about what she was going to do today: who she would play with, what her governess planned to teach her, where she and Mama would go to buy ribbons. These mornings were precious to her, but they were soon forgotten when she was sent to a finishing school. Apart from a brief letter every three months, the two did not speak with each other very much again. He had his business and books, and she had her balls and poetry to think about.

Isabella was filled with a peculiar type of grief when her father died the year she turned sixteen. While her sister was angered at the circumstances of his death, and her mother despondent as to who would be her companion in old age, Bella grieved as to what their life could have been if they spent more time with each other.

Late every night after his death, Isabella wondered what would have been if she had written more to him, asked him to not spend so much time in London and visit her at Bath the next time he happened to be there. She would have introduced him to her friends, her tutors, and perhaps asked the headmistress permission to walk around the town with her father for the day.

He had died in an inn while in his rooms one afternoon while he happened to be staying at Bath for business, rather than roaming around the city square with her. Papa had been stabbed, and someone had the gall to mark his forehead with the letter “X”.

* * *

Phineas was annoyed to see Mrs Witherby had went on a stroll during a very cold evening without even a shawl to cover herself with. He stomped on the lawn towards the fence separating Gabriel’s garden from the public park, where Mrs Whierby was standing, wiping tears from a handkerchief. Phineas began to run towards her when he saw a looming figure approaching her from behind. Although the presence of a fence would hinder the intruder’s path to the young woman, he seemed tall enough to be able to simply jump over it.

It was then that Mrs Witherby decided to look back and as she saw the stranger approaching her she screamed before tripping as she tried to escape. Her gown was caught by the ugly brambles she had been walking next to. The stranger vanished from sight, blending into the shadows of the trees in the park as Phineas approached Mrs Witherby, still on the ground with fat tears running down her cheeks.

Phineas found her hyper-emotional state to be odd; he was rude to her at dinner, but he did not expect her to cry over a callous remark. She was clearly much more sensitive than he made her out to be from this morning; although the prospect of being harmed by a stranger must have added to her tears too.

Wordlessly, he approached the lady and began to pull her up from the grass to take her inside. However, the brambles that had caught her dress ripped the sides and half torn off a sleeve. Phineas tried not to gawk at a shapely stocking covered calf, and reminded himself that he had a crying young lady in his arms before taking off his coat and covering her with it. As Mrs Witherby raised her head and was about to say something to him, perhaps her thanks, they both heard a gasp and snapped their heads around.

Mrs Livingstone was at a balcony, and had seen that Mrs Witherby was alone at night with Mr Bell in a state of undress. She ran inside, scandalised but also titillated at the news she had about the new heir and the previous heir’s wife.

Phineas and Mrs Witherby stared at each other, frozen in place as both of them realised at what this encounter had done to their good names. Phineas was not prepared for Mrs Witherby’s wide blue eyes to fill with tears again as bitter sobs racked her body.

He did not know that the prospect of marrying him offended her so much.


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are you so glum Finny? Most men would be delighted to marry a beautiful heiress!” Gabriel exclaimed. They were both taking a stroll at Hyde Park two days after The Incident, where both men could speak without being interrupted by the elder Mrs Livingstone.

“She does not love me,” Phineas winced at how cliched the words were, but it was true. “I am not the sort of man to be enchanted due to some beauty and a large dowry. And judging by Mrs Witherby’s behaviour, I doubt she is happy to be bound to me as well.”

“Yes, well she was very upset about the whole affair. To be honest, I’m not sure why mother felt compelled to tell all of London about what was clearly a big misunderstanding - ”

“Your mother is a witch.”

Gabriel roared in laughter and patted Phineas’ back a little too hard, causing him to nearly trip.

“Look, Bella is not upset because she’s marrying you. Anne herself told me it was because she fears any taint on her character will affect her younger sister’s reputation; Catherine has only been out for a season. And you have to remember that she was only just recently widowed after being John Witherby’s wife – that lucky bastard.”

“I am not my cousin!”

“She doesn’t know that! Which is why you will have to woo her – and you’ll have no competition as she is your wife after all – and I’m sure you can win her heart.” Gabriel gave Phineas a wide smile, but his eyes told a different story. Clearly, his “friend” knew Phineas was out of his depth too.

“I am not an easy man to live with. And I am not sure if I’ll be able to…woo her.” Phineas said slowly.

“Yes, you were a little rude to her that night. But never fear, if you cannot use pretty words, you can always seduce her.”

Phineas paused mid stride, and raised an eyebrow at Gabriel, who was trying not to laugh at his stiff and nearly bald companion.

“I…have not been married before, as you know Gabriel.” Phineas said after a moment.

“It’s alright old boy! First time for everything!” Gabriel roared, as Phineas winced; he was mortified he had to take advice from a much more younger man, and a very cocky one at that.

“Yes, well…” Phineas cleared his throat and decided to come clean with as much dignity as he could muster, “I will have responsibilities to my wife. Looking after her wellbeing, and also giving her a child – my heir.”

“Yes, you’re going to have a very pleasurable time making the heir to Blackfall!” he said

“Isabella has been married before…to a very striking man – physically.

“ _Yes_ …”

“And I am not as handsome or as young as John was.”

“ _And_ …”

“I have never been with a woman before.”

There was a moment of silence as Gabriel’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. Phineas tried to avoid his eye and felt his ears turning red.

“Wait…so you are…a _virgin_?” Gabriel said in a low voice.

Phineas, not trusting himself to speak, nodded slowly.

“But you are nearly forty.”

Phineas gave the young man such an icy glare that Gabriel shrunk in his seat, remembering the days when he was terrified of his teacher.

“Well then, um…I believe you should know the logistics…” Gabriel furrowed his brow when he saw that Phineas looked confused.

“You know you have to put your cock in her cunt.” Gabriel spat out.

It was at that moment that two middle aged ladies carrying parasols chose to walk past them. Their mouths were agape with shock at such vulgar speech in a public area; and they hastened their pace so that they could get away from the filthy young man.

Both men were silent for a while as they walked, before Gabriel spoke again.

“Do not fear, for I have an idea!”

* * *

“You. Are. An. Idiot.” Catherine enunciated each word very carefully as Bella shrunk into the chaise.

“It is hardly her fault that she was caught at such an inopportune moment, Catherine.” Their mother said as she continued to embroider.

“She’s still getting married to that phlegm’s old cousin!” Catherine was shouting now. “He is _forty_ , Mama!”

“Five and thirty.” Bella whispered.

“Bella,” Mama said very slowly, “you do not have to marry him.”

“Yes I do…” Bella took a deep breath before continuing, “The rumours that have been flying around have been extremely caustic and I have to think of Catherine. If not, she will never get a respectable proposal.”

“I don’t want to be married! I do not need to be married to, I am an heiress too!”

“I suppose you are right, Bella,” her mama said, ignoring Catherine’s outburst entirely, “Is he a good man?”

“Yes, I suppose. He is not exactly pleasant, but he is honourable. I think I enlightened you on how he retuned all of my jewels without any qualms. But I…” Bella’s voice faltered.

“Yes dear?”

“I want to know what it is like to roam the world and be the captain of my own life without the…shackles of marriage.”

“Shackles of marriage? That is very radical, my dear.”

“I just mean…I wanted to see the continent with you and Catherine.”

Mama looked touched and took Bella’s hand before squeezing it.

“Do you have any idea who this man…the person who attempted to attack your person was?” Catherine murmured.

“No, they disappeared as soon as Mr Bell came. We tried to inform the constable, but no one believed our account, and the attacker left without a trace. Due to Mrs Livingstone’s interference, everyone believes that Mr Bell and I lied about this attacker to cover up some scandalous behaviour and… _this is such a mess_!” Bella buried her head into her hands.

“Bella, do you think this person was trying to harm you or just speak to you? You have been a little jumpy since Father’s murder.”

Bella rose her head and remembered what Mr Bell had said during dinner at the night of The Incident.

“How much do you know about the Cambridge murders?”

“The times have reported four deaths over a short amount of time,” Mama said, “but the authorities have not divulged the nature of these murders.”

“Mama, Catherine, Mr Bell spoke of the murders that night during dinner – they victims were other faculty members from different colleges in the city, people he has known. He told us that they were poisoned and marked the same way Papa was.”

* * *

“A brothel! You have taken me to a brothel?” Phineas spluttered out as Gabriel dragged him out of the carriage to the entrance of Madam Chloe’s establishment. He had heard of the place, of course. It was the finest house of ill repute in town, where only the very wealthy could indulge in their pleasures.

“I am getting married!” Phineas exclaimed.

“You are not married yet!” Gabriel shot back.

“ _You_ are married!”

“I would _never_ be unfaithful to Anne!” Gabriel said, looking quite offended. “Which is why I’ll just be playing cards at the gentleman’s club next door!”

“That is also a _very_ bad idea!”

“Please be at ease and stop embarrassing yourself!” Gabriel scolded as they came to an entrance hall. It was adorned with rich draperies, and portraits of fleshy young women wearing barely anything at all. There was also the scent of incense burning somewhere, causing Phineas’ nostrils to be filled with the heady scent of smoke and flowers. He could also hear noises of men and women moaning, - _dear God, where was he?_ – wafting from downstairs to his ears. A handsome woman of around fifty and draped in red satin came to welcome them.

“Good evening, gentleman. I am Madam Chloe. How may I be of assistance?”

Gabriel pushed an unwitting Phineas before her.

“My friend…is inexperienced in the pleasures of the flesh, Madam Chloe. I was wondering if you knew someone who was willing to educate him.”

Madam Chloe’s eyes glittered as she inspected Phineas, who felt naked as her gaze raked all over his skinny form.

“I know just the one.” Madam Chloe said with a wolfish grin, “Bella!” she called out.

Phineas nearly whimpered when he heard the name of the whore that was meant to pleasure him. Gabriel also looked fairly rattled at this very unfortunate coincidence and wondered whether it was a good idea to take his friend here after all.

This uncertainty was further reinforced when a young woman with Mrs Witherby’s golden honey locks stepped into the scene. However, this woman was of around thirty years of age, and both taller and more buxom than Phineas’ to be. Although she was not as beautiful as Mrs Witherby, she was still very handsome and very pleasing to the eye, especially since her lacy black gown was cut so low that the top half of her teats was showing. But it was her relaxed stance and rather self assured expression which made Gabriel satisfied that he was leaving his friend in capable hands and that the man was unlikely to come out of this traumatised.

“I will see you after a few hours then, Finny.” Gabriel smiled at his stern former teacher’s wide eyes as his gaze flickered back and forth between him, Bella and Madam Chloe.


End file.
